


The Blood Children

by Guardian_of_Hope



Category: Black Jewels - Anne Bishop
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-10-05
Updated: 2011-11-23
Packaged: 2017-10-24 08:09:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/261041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Guardian_of_Hope/pseuds/Guardian_of_Hope
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The tangled webs have spoken. Fifty thousand years ago, they created a family that spans the Realm of Terreille. The fruit of their labors is finally in season. Queens, Warlord Princes, Black Widows and more will be called from their childhoods to learn to be Blood and to stand witness as the Witch-Storm shatters what they cannot stop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dark Sign

**Author's Note:**

> Quotes and scenes taken from Daughter of the Blood by Anne Bishop. Inspired by The Black Jewels novels and stories by Anne Bishop.

The Trickster waited. Tucked away in a corner of the Court, sipping wine as slowly as he could, he watched. He kept his mind blank, both to keep from attracting attention and to keep his disgust at the false Dance that swirled around him. The Blood of this Court mouthed the phrases of Protocol without thinking of their meaning, and it disgusted him.

“Tell us a story, Weaver,” one of the men shouted.

The Trickster stiffened, hating to watch, but unable to look away as the broken Black Widow took her place before the Court. Years spent fighting the Twisted Kingdom had left their mark, but the youth and beauty she’d once claimed were visible. A man drifted between the Trickster and the Weaver and he looked up, furious. The Sadist’s golden eyes watched him, warm amusement flickering in them for just a moment.

The Trickster flinched slightly and looked away, hoping the Sadist wouldn’t reveal him for what he was. The dark jeweled Warlord Prince remained for a brief moment before moving on. The Trickster started looking for his escape route; no way was he going to play the Game when the Sadist was there.

A sharp voice, the Trickster jumps, and bites his lip to keep from swearing. Not only is the Sadist there, but the Eyrian as well. He sets his wine glass down and prepares to stand. “She is coming.”

The Trickster stares at the Weaver, sensing the sudden interest of the Sadist and the Eyrian. There is a tangled web beside the Weaver, and the Trickster worries that she has taken the final steps to the Twisted Kingdom. “Stupid bitch,” a Warlord crowed,    
“Tell me who I’ll love tonight.”

“What does it matter?” The Weaver replied sharply, “She is coming; The Realm of Terreillee will be torn apart by its own foolish greed. Those who survive will serve, but few will survive.”

As the Sadist went to the Weaver, the Trickster fought to hide the internal pain at the idea of Terreillee, his home, falling apart even as he moved closer, unnoticed beneath the webs spun for such a purpose.

Quieter, the Weaver continues, “The Blood in Terreille whore the old ways and make a mockery of everything we are. They twist things to suit themselves. They dress up and pretend. They wear Blood Jewels but don’t understand what it means to be Blood. They talk of honoring the Darkness, but it’s a lie. They honor nothing but their own ambitions. The Blood were created to be caretakers of the Realms. That’s why we were given our power. That’s why we come from yet are apart from, the people in every Territory. The perversion of what we are can’t go on. The day is coming when the debt will be called in and the Blood will have to answer for what they’ve done."

The Eyrian also approaches, drawn to them despite his own thoughts.

“The Darkness has had a Prince for a long, long time. Now the Queen is coming. It may take decades, even centuries, but she is coming. They will be dust by then, but you and the Eyrien will be here to serve.”

The Trickster closes his eyes in wonder at her words, “The living myth. Dreams made flesh.”

The Warlord’s death can wait. The Trickster turns and heads for the back exit. In his mind, he sees an old chess set, all the pieces waiting for the game to start save one. The darker jeweled Queen had not been placed. They were all waiting for that final piece to come into play.

  
  
**  
_She Is Coming!_   
**   



	2. The Trickster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blood calls to Blood, but the eyes can decieve.
> 
> Beware the child unknown for he is the Trickster

“Greetings Trickster,” the Guardian said as he dropped from the Winds onto the darkened landing court.

“Greetings Guardian,” the Trickster replied, watching her cautiously as she stepped out of the doorway to the mountain tower. Torches lit up, illuminating the rounded base, and giving them both just enough light to fully identify each other.

“Is it done?” She asked finally, in her soft, age roughened voice. They both winced slightly at the reminder of the Trickster’s job. She because she hated using another to do the work, and he because of the history behind the job.

“It’s done,” the Trickster said as he reached to slip his fingers through his hair, intending to straighten the strands misplaced by a windy night. As he touched the short, spikes he sighed, “Would you take this off, Lady?”

“First,” the Guardian said, “there is someone I would have you meet. I wish him to see both faces.” She turned and headed into the tower, clearly expecting to be obeyed and followed no matter the Trickster’s true feelings on the matter.

The Trickster bowed, reluctant but obedient, “As my Lady wishes.” Then he followed behind her, sending a burst of Craft to dim the torches and shut the doors behind them. The tower was isolated, but that didn’t mean they shouldn’t take precautions, after all.

He followed her through the tower’s guard room to the rooms buried in the mountain that served her as a home. The guest waited for them in the smaller waiting room, and the psychic scent that the Trickster could detect made him uneasy. While the Guardian walked calmly into the room unannounced, the Trickster hesitated. Eyriens and Warlord Princes in general, didn’t always appreciate strange males appearing out of nowhere. “Come on,” the Guardian said, “nothing is going to happen under my roof.”

The Trickster stepped into the room as the light from the fireplace flared. The Eyrien stood next to the mantel looking like every other Eyrien the Trickster had ever seen. Only the Red Jewel on the pendant around his neck marked him as different. “He’s a child,” the Eyrien said, stunned, pulling the Trickster out of his private contemplation.

“I’m not as young as I look, Prince,” the Trickster replied with a dangerous smile. He gestured to his body, “Besides, who really notices a kid.” He’d lost count of how many times had he gone into a Territory looking not unlike this, a boy of a short lived race, barely into adolescence. Nobody really noticed children, even when they saw them doing something unusual. As long as no one caught him setting the pretty traps and the death spells, nobody ever thought of him as more than a mischievous child.

“Be easy,” the Guardian snapped as she deliberately stepped between them. “Prince Caylenar, this is the Trickster.”

“Prince,” the Trickster said finally, and accepted Caylenar’s grudging nod. “You worry about me being a child, but I’m not. My Lady trusts you, there for I will trust you as well.” He bowed slightly to the Guardian, “If you would, my Lady?”

The Guardian gestured and the short, red haired boy with fox like features shimmered and became the refined features of a young Hayllian. “Who are you?” Caylenar demanded with all the distrust of a person who has seen the dark side of Hayll and none of the good.

“Rowan,” the Trickster replied, settling his black hair with a restless hand. “My name is Rowan, Prince.” He kept his face neutral, unwilling to admit how much the automatic distrust and hate grated on his nerves.

“You are still a child,” Caylenar said after a moment, the distrust still there but somewhat muted by contempt.

“No more than you are,” Rowan replied, wondering if he’d have to beat sense into the Eyrien.

“Boys,” the Guardian snapped, “take a walk. Rowan, explain what you do, no riddles.”   
“Yes Lady,” Rowan said with a slight bow. He kept his face and voice as neutral as he could.

“Yes Aunt Kyra,” Caylenar ground out a moment later. Rowan hid his sudden curiosity, not many of the long lived races could claim the Guardian as family.

The two were silent as they left the room, Rowan in the lead. He headed for the tower without a second thought. “Where are you going?” Caylenar demanded from behind him, hurrying to keep up.

“The tower,” Rowan replied, trying    
not   
to think how easy it would be for the Eyrien to decide that a quick blast of the Red and an Eyrien war blade would deal with the Hayllian intruder. “It’s private and the Lady keeps a room for me there when I’m in this part of Terreille.”

They took the stairs up and Rowan lead Caylenar onto a balcony. “Who are you?” Caylenar demanded as soon as the doors swung shut.

“My name is Rowan,” Rowan said quietly, “my mother was a Summer-Sky Queen with more balls and sass than sense. She was broken by my father at Dorothea’s request. When she found out about me, Mother went looking for help. Her brother had married the Lady’s niece and the Lady took us in. Mother died a few years ago, but she never recovered from being broken. Since Mother died, I have been one of the Lady’s eyes and ears in Terreille. I am called the Trickster by the Family and I often taken on the appearance of a child, usually of the shorter lived races, to achieve my goals.” He let his Opal ring flash, “I wear Birthright Opal and I am a Warlord.” Leaning on the balcony’s rail he looked at his companion, “So who are you?”

“My name is Caylenar,” Caylenar said, “My mother was a Summer-Sky Witch and a Half-Breed. My Grandfather was Hayllian, and a son of the Lady. My father was a sixth circle guard to an Eyrien Queen. The Queen took offense to a Summer-Sky Witch and a Purple Dusk Warlord giving birth to a Warlord Prince when she’d had two children, neither of whom wore Jewels, especially when I walked out of the Birthright Ceremony carrying the Red. My father was killed fighting the Jhinkas and my mother was forced into service as a serving witch while I was in the Training Camps. There were some rumors that I would be Ringed, but it hasn’t happened yet.”

Rowan nodded, “That makes you Family. I can understand why the Lady wanted us to meet.”

“It’s more than that,” Caylenar said. “My mother has a half-sister in Hayll. I have a cousin, a Black Widow cousin.”

“One day, we’ll meet,” Rowan said.

“You don’t know that,” Caylenar replied.

“Of course I do,” Rowan replied, “the Lady wouldn’t have brought us together if that wasn’t part of our future.”

The doors opened, “Trickster,” the Guardian said.

“Guardian,” Rowan turned, blinking in the light that spilled outwards.

“Word has arrived from Dena Nehele. It’s time.” The Guardian said.

Rowan nodded, “I’ll leave immediately.”

The Guardian handed him a pendant and Rowan slid it around his neck quickly. In moments, his form twisted and he became a dark haired, dark skinned youth with clear green eyes. “Keep them safe,” the Guardian admonished him.

“I will,” the Trickster replied and ran for the landing web.

“What’s going on?” Caylenar asked.

“Rowan is going to see a witch through her first childbirth,” the Guardian replied. “If the girl lives, her daughter will be a key to saving Terreille.”

“Do you trust him?” Caylenar asked after a long moment.

“I trust him with our Queens,” the Guardian replied, “because he has proven worthy.”

“I should go,” Caylenar said after a long moment of thought, “Mother will worry.”

“Go,” the Guardian said and kissed his cheek. “Take care, Caylenar.”

“You too.”


	3. Wings and Widows

Caylenar rarely thought about the night he'd been summoned to the Tower. For one, it was dangerous to reveal the Lady's presence, and for another he still wasn't sure he could trust the Hayllian Warlord child. Still, as he dropped from the Winds to glide over the landing web at Harper's Bridge, he couldn't help but remember that Aunt Kyra had trusted the other with their Queens.

Caylenar flew over the village and landed lightly at the gate to a busy family home. A Hayllian girl stepped out of the house with a smile, "Caylenar," she said, "it's been a while."

"It's been two weeks," Caylenar objected as he let himself in the gate. "Have you been taking care of yourself?"

"Of course," the girl replied as they hugged.

"Arianna," Caylenar said and gave his cousin a long looking over. As usual, she seemed fine, but there was an odd glint in her gold eyes that prompted him to ask, "Are you sure you're ok?"

The girl smiled, "Why wouldn't I be?" Silently she added, *Inside, cousin. There are too many ears out here.*

"Let me pay my respects to Aunt Mayshell," Caylenar said.

The house was a large two story home, filled with the shrieks of children. Everywhere Caylenar looked, there were children. Mayshell had taken it upon herself to look after many of the local children, a holdover from when Arianna's siblings still lived at home and half the children of the village had wound up visiting because they were friends. Now only Arianna remained at home, but the children still came. They came for the stories that were wrapped around true Protocol, for the nutcakes and milk, and the older ones came because if you asked nicely there was always some 'little chore' to be done for the odd mark.

Caylenar had spent a good deal of his childhood here, especially after his father had died fighting the Jhinkas. "Caylenar," Mayshell said as she stepped out of the kitchen, "how nice to see you."

"Aunt Mayshell," Caylenar said, he kissed her cheek lightly, still amused at how much she looked like her Eyrien half-sister without wings, "How are you?"

"I'm good," Mayshell replied, "I just finished making nutcakes, would you like some before the hoard descends?"

Caylenar laughed, "Of course I'd like some."

Mayshell turned back to the kitchen, "Come along then, you too Arianna."

Settled at the kitchen table with nutcakes and milk, Caylenar sighed, "How are you?" He asked Arianna softly.

"I'm ok," Arianna said, she glanced at her mother. "There are rumors though."

"Rumors," Caylenar said tightly.

"They say I'm going to be summoned to Dorothea's court," Arianna replied, "to 'complete my training'."

Caylenar hissed, "You can't go to Draega."

"You think I don't know that," Arianna snapped, "Caylenar, I may not have a choice."

Someone rang the bell at the front door, cutting off Caylenar's response. "Who could that be?" Mayshell murmured, she headed for the hall, "I'll be right back."

Caylenar rolled his eyes and stood up, "So will I," he told his cousin.

He followed Mayshell to the front door, and called in a knife as she reached for the door knob. "Hello?" She said as she opened the door.

"Lady Mayshell?" A man said.

"I am," Mayshell replied, "can I help you?"

"I have a message for your daughter," the man replied. Caylenar set his feet, feeling the hot rage of the killing edge slide up on him.

"I'll see that she gets it," Mayshell said firmly, her tone was a message to Caylenar even as she took something from the man he couldn't quite see.

"Yes ma'am, thank you," the man said, "have a good day."

"Have a good day," Mayshell said and shut the door.

Caylenar took a deep breath, followed by two more, his eyes falling shut. When he opened them, Mayshell was watching him, "Better?"

"Yes," Caylenar said, "sorry."

"It's all right," Mayshell said, "I raised two Warlord Princes Caylenar, all I can say is that at least there's only one of you."

"Who was at the door?" Arianna asked, stepping out of the kitchen.

"A messenger," Mayshell replied, "it's for you."

Arianna accepted this with a nod, "You might want to reassure the children," she said, and wrinkled her nose at Caylenar, "You are anything but subtle."

Mayshell handed Arianna the message and headed to the back. Caylenar realized that the house had fallen silent. He hadn't been aware of it, but the children had probably felt his anger. Arianna cleared her throat and Caylenar blinked at her, "What's in the message?" He asked.

Arianna pulled the message open and read it quietly. Caylenar toyed with another nutcake as she read, only to abandon it as she gasped and dropped the letter. "Arianna?" He said.

"Read," she said, the swallowed, "read it."

Caylenar pulled it over and began to read. It was difficult for him, reading was never his strongest ability, but he read enough. "You have to leave."

"I can't," Arianna replied. "I don't know where to go."

Caylenar thought of the tower, and of the tangled webs that protected it from unwanted callers. "It doesn't matter, as long as you come with me," he said finally.

Arianna shook her head, "I can't."

"Why not?" Caylenar demanded.

"It's almost time," Arianna said, "I won't be able to do anything with Craft."

Caylenar sucked in air as Arianna's meaning hit him, "Ok," he said, "what are our options?"

"I answer the summons," Arianna replied.

Caylenar snarled.

"It's an option," Arianna said sharply, "whether or not we accept is up to us. I could stay here until after that, and then we can leave."

Caylenar considered, and nodded, "We could."

"We could leave now and take our chances," Arianna added.

For a long moment, Caylenar considered their options. He hated every single one of them. Arianna shifted beside him, then stilled. Clearly she was waiting for his advice. Then Mayshell walked into the kitchen, "I sent the children home early," she announced almost too casually. "Your temper scared them, Caylenar."

"I apologize," Caylenar said.

Mayshell smiled, "It's all right. Most of them have Warlords and Princes for fathers, it will do them good to remember the difference being a Warlord Prince makes. Although you made quite the impression on Farren."

"Farren," Caylenar said, "the little Warlord Prince with a fondness for biting?"

Arianna snorted and Mayshell chuckled, "That's him."

"Do him good to feel it a few times," Caylenar said. He glanced down at the note again, "How long until it starts?" He asked finally, thoughts turning over in his mind.

"Less than a week," Arianna said promptly, "but probably not today or tomorrow."

"Good," Caylenar said and stood. "I'll be back in a few days. We'll see what happens then."

"What are you going to do?" Arianna demanded as he headed for the doorway.

Caylenar pointedly rested his hand, with its Red Jewel ring, on the door frame into the kitchen, "I think we're going to need a little extra help for this one," he said quietly, "something a little darker than the Red." That said, he hurried out of the house and took off, heading for the landing webs, already planning for what he needed to make the Offering to the Darkness.


	4. Spider's Song

Caylenar didn't make it back in time, but Arianna didn't blame him. If what the Eyrien had hinted at were true, she wouldn't be surprised if he needed a little extra time to adjust to the dark power he would now claim. Thankfully, her father was back in time and she felt comforted by having the Opal Jeweled Warlord Prince she called father close to the house. She also felt secretly grateful that their little village didn't warrant a Queen. No, Lady Adana was happy to live in the larger Kenner's Bridge and only come once a season to give her presence to an occasion.

As Arianna dealt with her vulnerability, listening to her father roam the house just a step back from the killing edge, she wondered how he would react when they left. Mayshell may have known it would happen, but clearly, her mother hadn't told her father. He wasn't yelling quite loud enough for something like that to have happened.

Caylenar came on the second day, having sent a message to the house that he was coming. Arianna refrained from going out to meet him, knowing that both of the men in her life would not only yell at her, but would be justified. Instead, she curled up in her favorite window seat in the library and let Caylenar come to her.

"Welcome back," she said when he stepped into the room. She turned to regard him over the craft book she'd been reading, "What took you so long?"

Caylenar shifted his wings uneasily. "There was some trouble;" he said finally, "Mother was taken to the Tower."

"Is she all right?" Arianna asked, straightening.

"She'll heal fine," Caylenar said, "it just wasn't safe for her at home."

Arianna nodded, "I'm glad of that." She closed her book, "So, how did it go?" Caylenar ducked his head and came further into the library, allowing her to see the Jewel that rested under his shirt. Arianna stared at the Jewel, licked her lips and said, "How many people are going to compare you to Lucivar Yaslana now?"

Caylenar grinned and self consciously touched the Ebon-Gray Jewel, "I know," he said. "When Aunt Kyra's people came for Mother, she left a message for you and me."

"Really," Arianna replied, "what did she say?"

Caylenar produced an envelope and flipped it over to her, "Read it yourself."

Arianna opened the letter and read the short, blunt lines. Do not come to the Tower a virgin, you will never leave.

"Ok," she said finally and slid the letter back in the envelope, "ok."

Caylenar settled on a stool kept in the Library for him and regarded her for a long moment, "What do you want to do?"

"I'm too young," Arianna said.

"Damn right you are," Caylenar snarled.

"Easy," Arianna said, "I'm too young for a Virgin Night, but Dorothea has already pledge herself to my training. I can't go hide with your mother now, not with your trouble. I don't know where to go." She drew her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them.

"Don't worry," Caylenar said, "there's always an answer."

Unfortunately, trouble should up before they'd found that answer.

…

Arianna's parents had been summoned to Lady Adana's court, leaving her in Caylenar's care. It had been a week since they'd begun to plan her escape and things were not going well. "Dhemlan may be our only hope," Caylenar said finally. "You can pass yourself off as Dhemlan."

"But you can't," Arianna replied.

"No," Caylenar said, "and that's going to be our weakness unless we get some help."

"What kind of help can we expect?" Arianna demanded.

Caylenar opened his mouth to respond, but stopped as something hit the red shields he's put around the property. "Trouble," he said and ran for the kitchen, where he'd have the best view on the lower level of the house.

Sure enough, there were men surrounding the house, looking grimly determined as they made further strikes on his shield. "What are they doing?" Arianna said.

"Someone figured out you were planning to run," Caylenar replied shortly.

"I can't promise you'll be safe but I can promise if you stay here you'll definitely die," a soft voice said behind them, "Your only choice is to follow me."

Arianna stared at the little Hyllian Warlord who had appeared in the kitchen, his gold eyes glittering in the witchlight. Caylenar looked at him and cursed in Eyrien, one of the words that his mother forbade him to speak around her but Arianna heard on occasion. "I know," the Warlord said with an odd gaiety, "Last person you expected to see when Dorothea's minions are knocking at the gate."

"What do you want, Trickster?" Caylenar asked, glancing back outside at the gathering of guards.

Trickster? Arianna wondered, she glanced from Caylenar to the Warlord and back again. The glance was quick, but she had noticed both the Opal Ring on his finger and the Sapphire Jewel under the black jacket he wore.

"Today? To see you and your cousin out of this trap safely," The Warlord said in a worldly manner. He took a pair of tinted glasses and slid them on before winking at Arianna, "Eventually? A little place in the mountains, with the good kind of wood banisters that don't leave splinters in your ass and a lake."

Caylenar snarled and the Warlord shook his head, "Enough," Arianna said before the Warlord could make a comment. "You said you could get us out of here?"

"Yes," the Warlord said, and tilted his head forward. Arianna realized that while her first impression of 'youth' was accurate, size aside, the Warlord was not a child. "I'm called the Trickster and I do some work for Lady Kyra."

"He's trustworthy," Caylenar added, "Aunt Kyra trusts him with our Queens."

"I'm Arianna," Arianna said, understanding the hidden meaning; this youth had seen a Queen through her Virgin Night intact, and probably more than one. Not many got that honor outside the Krysteos bloodline. "How do we get out of here?"

"We have a distraction coming," the Trickster said gesturing outside at the Guards.

A series of shouts from in front of the house, followed by a series of power bursts, caught their attention. Something was moving amongst the men outside, and there were flashes of Green and Grey power accompanying the screams.

"And that's our exit. Follow me, ask no questions. Don't speak out loud. I don't care what I ask you to do, until we hit the winds you damn well better do it." The Trickster looked back and forth for a moment until they both nodded.

"Good," the Trickster said and vanished his glasses, "we're going to the Keep."

The Trickster's warning of silence was the only thing that kept her sharp glare at her cousin from being a more vocal argument. They left the house by walking through the kitchen door, wrapped in Ebon-Gray sight shields. Once they were through the men, the Trickster didn't look back, running down a side street towards the landing webs. *We have to be a little closer, but there's an Opal Wind we can catch before they take their attention off the distraction. We'll take that into Askavi, and then we'll catch a different Wind to the Keep.*

Arianna caught Caylenar's hand and ran.


End file.
